


Poetry of the Deed

by thedarkandstormyknight



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And anxiety, M/M, and readjusting to the world in general, and really wonderful friends, and tattoos, plus cats, retired soldiers dealing with ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkandstormyknight/pseuds/thedarkandstormyknight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blond man noticed Bucky’s glare about two floors up. Then he blushed. It was not the reaction Bucky had expected. People usually took offense to Bucky’s staring, until they stared back long enough to notice the empty sleeve pinned to his left shoulder. Then their faces melted into pity, which was definitely worse. No one blushed at Bucky and certainly not large men who looked like they could lift Bucky in one hand. But the guy simply blushed and shifted slightly on his feet.</p><p>“That obvious, huh?” he said with a shy little laugh. Bucky’s glare deepened in confusion. The guy nodded and started unzipping his brown leather jacket. What a strange response. Natasha’s civilian lessons had definitely not covered this. And yet the stranger kept unzipping until a black, bedraggled head poked out of the jacket and meowed. Yup, Bucky was definitely staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something Fishy

 

When Bucky Barnes had decided to quit the army and rejoin civilian life, adjusting had been hard. His friend Natasha Romanoff, who wasn’t quite retired but was at least working out of New York, had been the one to find him an affordable apartment and teach him when it meant to live without the fear of death hanging over him at every moment. Or at least how to pretend the fear wasn’t there.

 

He was pretty sure the lessons had included not staring at people like they were potential threats. Even large blond men dripping literal streams of water as they shifted nervously in an elevator. He was definitely not supposed to glare. And yet here he was, glaring at the man he was pretty sure lived in the apartment next to him. Bucky wasn’t sure why he was glaring, exactly, except that something fishy was definitely going on.

 

The blond man noticed Bucky’s glare about two floors up. Then he blushed. It was not the reaction Bucky had expected. People usually took offense to Bucky’s staring, until they stared back long enough to notice the empty sleeve pinned to his left shoulder. Then their faces melted into pity, which was definitely worse. No one blushed at Bucky and certainly not large men who looked like they could lift Bucky in one hand. But the guy simply blushed and shifted slightly on his feet.

 

“That obvious, huh?” he said with a shy little laugh. Bucky’s glare deepened in confusion. The guy nodded and started unzipping his brown leather jacket. What a strange response. Natasha’s civilian lessons had definitely not covered this. And yet the stranger kept unzipping until a black, bedraggled head poked out of the jacket and meowed. Yup, Bucky was definitely staring.

 

“Is that a cat?” he asked finally. The elevator stopped at his floor and the doors slid open. Bucky made no attempt to exit the elevator, captivated as he was by this strange sight. The guy shuffled forward.

 

“Yeah. Hey, um, this is my floor. Do you mind not telling anyone about this?” he asked as he moved to exit the elevator. Dazed, Bucky followed him. Why did this need to be a big secret? Was it like a spy cat? Trained to kill and  - oh no wait, their apartment had a no pets policy.

 

“How’d you get a cat?” Bucky probably should have assured the guy he wouldn’t say anything, but he was more preoccupied with the wet little tongue licking the guy’s gentle but large hand. They were both drenched.

 

“Found the little gal drowning in a gutter, if you’d believe it. Looked like someone wanted to get rid of her. I couldn’t leave her to die,” said the guy, talking more to the kitten than Bucky. There was something adorable about seeing someone as large as this stranger being so careful and gentle with a tiny animal the size of his palm. “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers” He held out the hand not cradling the cat. Belatedly Bucky realized he should return the hand.

 

“Bucky Barnes.” It still felt weird introducing himself without the Sergeant. Nat said adjusting took time. He hadn’t realized how much. Steve grinned.

 

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Looks like we’re neighbors.” It took Bucky to realize Steve was fitting a key into the door next to his. “So you won’t tell?”

 

“About the cat? Nah.” Those blue eyes were so open and hopeful, Bucky couldn’t answer any other way. So what if it was against the lease? The huge, all encompassing smile Steve gave in return was worth more than any risk Bucky might be taking.

 

“Thanks, I owe you.” Unbidden, Bucky smiled in return. It was automatic in the face of so much unguarded joy.

 

“Yeah, uh, no problem. I guess I’ll see you around?” Bucky asked awkwardly, scrubbing at the back of his neck with his one good hand. Steve nodded.

 

“Sure thing. It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” Then Steve and the kitten disappeared into his apartment, leaving Bucky standing in the middle of the hallway like an ass. It took him a full minute to pull himself together and enter his own place.

 

It was only later when he recounted the event to Natasha that he realized Steve hadn’t looked at his missing arm once.

 

 


	2. A Normal Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damn son, that is the most adorable kitten I’ve ever seen.” Sam had snuck into the kitchen while Steve was preoccupied and was staring at her with wide, adoring eyes. Steve nodded. He understood this feeling well. “You name her yet?”
> 
> “Not yet,” Steve admitted.

“Can cats drink milk? They can’t, can they?” mused Steve as he paced around his kitchen on the phone, freshly showered and trying to find something to feed the little kitten blinking sleepily at him from her towel cocoon.

“Hang on, let me google it. Nope, they can’t. Have any tuna? They can’t eat a ton of human tuna, but just this once should be okay,” answered Steve’s best, and really only, friend Sam Wilson. Steve could hear soft sounds of chatter in the background.

“Shoot, I didn’t interrupt you during your group, did I?” When they had both been discharged two years ago, Sam had grown heavily involved in veteran affairs, while Steve had tried to distance himself from anything having to do with his time overseas. Sam said they coped with loss in different ways. Steve was inclined to agree. Sam now ran a group therapy for vets, and Steve respected and supported that. He knew how important it was to Sam, even if he felt uncomfortable going himself.

“Nah. You know I turn my cell off for that. We finished like twenty minutes ago. Hey we still on for dinner? I can pick up some cat food on the way.”

“You’re the best,” said Steve fervently. Sam’s happy chuckle warmed his heart. It had taken them both a long time to learn to laugh again. It was still hard sometimes.

“I know. Say, I’ll see you in a half hour? You better have food for me, man,” responded Sam. Steve peeked into his cupboards.

“Homemade mac and cheese sound alright to you?”

“Man, that sounds like heaven.” Smiling, they hung up and Steve busied himself in the kitchen. But first he opened a small can of tuna for the kitten. The little thing looked up at him with huge golden eyes before stuffing her face into the tuna in earnest. Steve took a moment to scratch behind her ears, and she simply purred.

He was glad he rescued her, but he was doubly glad he had brought her home, Steve decided as he started making dinner for him and Sam. The idea of placing her in a shelter had occurred to Steve, but he had fallen in with her the moment she had opened her big yellow eyes. He had seen in her defiance. Even as she struggled against the rain and gushing water, she wouldn’t give up. His heart had clenched and he knew right then he couldn’t abandon her.

And then there had been Bucky Barnes. Steve wasn’t going to lie, he had noticed the man when he moved four months ago. Bucky wasn’t the sort of person you could ignore, after all. Even without knowing him, Steve had been drawn to the rigid lines of his shoulders, reading in his stance that he was a lost soul but refusing to admit it or let it affect him. Sam liked to say Steve had a thing for stubborn assholes. Steve said he appreciated perseverance in the face of greater odds.

“Hey, it’s me!” called Sam as he opened the door.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Steve called back as he slid the mac and cheese into the oven. He checked on the kitten again. She had finished the tuna and was licking at the wet matted fur.

“Damn son, that is the most adorable kitten I’ve ever seen.” Sam had snuck into the kitchen while Steve was preoccupied and was staring at her with wide, adoring eyes. Steve nodded. He understood this feeling well. “You name her yet?”

“Not yet,” Steve admitted. He squinted at the kitten, trying to think of a name. And then it occurred to him. “I’m going to call her Peggy.” Sam’s hand came to rest on Steve’s shoulder and squeeze gently.

“It’s a good name. She’ll carry it well.” Nodding somberly, Steve let Sam’s hand linger for another moment before sighing heavily and going to check on dinner.

Peggy Carter’s death still weighed heavily on Steve. There was nothing he could’ve done. He hadn’t even been in the same country at the time. And yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Sam understood. He had long someone too, his partner Riley. And just like Peggy had been to Steve, Sam used partner with more than one meaning.

“We’ll find a Riley to keep her company,” Steve promised as Sam started setting the table. Shooting Steve a thankful look, Sam glanced at the cat again.

“Who knows, maybe’ll this will be good for you. Force you to interact with someone besides me.”

“Hey, I interact with other people,” Steve protested. “My job literally involves new people every day. Plus I met my neighbor in the elevator today.”

“The hot one?” Sam’s interest was immediately piqued. Glancing at the thin apartment walls, Steve shushed him and snapped a dish towel at him. Sam merely chuckled.

“Come on, man, he can’t hear me through the wall. And even if he did, how is he to know who I’m talking about? Maybe you have plenty hot neighbors.”

“Oh god, what did I do to deserve this?” groaned Steve as Sam cackled.

“Anyway, tell me about hot neighbor.” Steve blushed.

“Uh, he’s hotter in person, if you can believe that, and caught me with Peggy and was really nice about it. He even promised not to tell anyone. And his name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” If Steve gave a happy little sigh after he said that, well, Sam was kind enough not to comment, even if he did wink suggestively.

“Now you going to go and hit that?”

“Says the man who’s been dateless just as long as me,” Steve countered. They continued bickering good naturedly over dinner, sending snipes and sarcastic remarks in a way that was as easy as breathing. Steve was forever thankful that his return to the States had corresponded with Sam. They hadn’t known each other on the field, but he doubted he could’ve adjusted to civilian life without the guy. It had certainly been a stroke of luck when they ran into each other jogging and then again at the VA center.

“Oh no I recognize that look,” grinned Sam. “No getting sentimental at this meal. Nope, not allowed.” Peggy, from where she had been watching them with curiosity meowed in apparent agreement.” Pretending to weep, Steve crushed Sam in a huge hug.

“But I just love you so much, Sammy.”

“Get off!” complained Sam, poking Steve incessantly with his fork. Laughing, Steve eventually released his friend. He noticed Peggy inching closer to them as time went on. Hopefully this meant she was warming up to them.

By the time Steve had washed the dishes and settled on the sofa with Sam to watch “Lilo and Stitch,” Peggy was cautiously perched on the top of the couch. Steve carefully ignored her in favor of draping himself over Sam just to be annoying. Halfway through the movie, however, she leapt from her spot to land lightly by Steve’s feet. And by the end, she was asleep on Steve’s chest. He didn’t dare move for fear of disturbing her.

“Looks like she’s settling in,” Sam observed as the credits rolled. Something warm and protective glowed in Steve’s chest as he looked at the slumbering ball of fur. Then he grinned saucily at Sam.

“Guess you’re stuck here with me, because I can’t move and you can’t move until I move.” Sam didn’t protest. It was the cardinal rule of pet owners. You don’t disturb the sleeping pet. Sam would never mess with that.

 

Eventually, however, Sam had to go home to his own apartment, and he and Steve carefully rearranged themselves so as to not wake up Peggy. Then Steve was left alone in his living room. Except, he remembered with a smile, he had the delightful company of Peggy now. That was a far shake from being alone. 

 


	3. An Important Clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky turned to get a look at the guy who would be sticking a needle repeatedly into his friend’s flesh and blanched.
> 
>  
> 
> “Cat guy,” he breathed without thinking. He hadn’t seen his strange, cat-smuggling neighbor since the incident in the elevator almost three week ago now. True to his word, he hadn’t told their landlord, but that hadn’t stopped him from wandering. Steve, to Bucky’s amazement, blushed again. Maybe this was a thing he did, hidden baby animal or not. He certainly wasn’t blushing because of Bucky.

Bucky was a trained killer. Which is why he definitely didn’t jump when he entered his kitchen half asleep to see Natasha sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee. No, he merely flinched. Slightly. And if anyone asked he would deny it.

 

“Is there a reason you’re here so early?” he asked as he helped himself to the coffee Natasha had left for him. She leveled him with a cool look.

 

“Is there a reason you haven’t gotten fitted for a prosthetic arm yet?” she fired back. And this was why Bucky had avoided her calls the past two weeks.

 

“Does it matter?” he muttered, slipping into the seat beside her. Natasha hooked a foot around the chair leg and tugged him closer.

 

“You know most people would jump at the chance to test an experimental arm that will potentially respond to your brain like it’s your own,” she said, her voice more neutral than accusatory. It wasn’t that Bucky wasn’t thankful for Natasha using her ill begotten connections to help him, it was just --

 

“Yeah, but it won’t be my own. That’s the point. It’ll be a metal monstrosity coming out of my body like I’m Frankenstein or something.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Frankenstein was the scientist, not the creation,” remarked Natasha primly. She watched him over the rim on her coffee mug as Bucky tried to ignore the empty flapping sleeve at his side.

 

“What difference does it make? I don’t want to me someone’s experiment, Nat. I’m done being used by other people.” Her face finally softened at those words.

 

“You’re not an experiment, James. And you don’t have to test a fancy Stark arm if you don’t want to. I just think you need to take a step forward in recognizing that your old arm isn’t coming back.” Now Bucky really did flinch. She was too damned perceptive for her own good sometimes. But at least without something taking the place of his arm like an alien on his body, he could sometimes forget the sacrifices he had made.

 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” he relented at last. The answer appeared to satisfy Natasha, and she relaxed into her coffee.

 

“Clint’s decided he wants a tattoo. We’re going to get him one today. You could come?” she offered. Bucky was never sure what was going on between her and her field partner Clint Barton. Were they together? Were they friends? Were they friends with benefits? No one knew.

 

“I’ll think about it. What’s he getting?”

 

“An arrow, if you can believe it.” She scoffed at the unoriginality of an arrow tattoo for a man who acted as an archer for a living. “I hope he cries.” Bucky knew Natasha well enough to know that she didn’t mean it.

 

“That reminds me. Are you ever going to tell me what you do that requires Clint to carry a weapon from the Paleolithic era or are you going to leave me to wonder, as always?”

 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Natasha sang sweetly. The sad thing was Bucky didn’t think she was kidding. “I offered you a shot at joining us but you preferred being a sniper for the army. Not my fault.”

 

“I should’ve taken you up on it,” said Bucky ruefully. He nodded to his missing arm. “I might still have all my limbs.”

 

“Or maybe you’d be missing more of them. You can never know. Anyway, are you coming or not? It might be good to leave this place for something besides the gym or food.” Natasha knew him too well. Bucky didn’t like going out these days. Hadn’t much since his return. The stares were awful and the crowds overwhelming. Half the time he misinterpreted innocent things like plastic bags as grenades or other instruments of death.

 

“Clint voluntarily letting himself be poked by a needle repeatedly? This I have to see,” said Bucky in an attempt to be casual. He didn’t want to admit how out of his comfort zone a simple trip with friends left him feeling. He should be able to do stuff like this. Not fooled in the least, Natasha nodded.

 

“You want to walk or take my car?”

 

“Is it walking distance?” Bucky asked, surprised. She hummed in confirmation. “Uh, let’s walk.” He didn’t like crowds but enclosed spaces were worse. With that settled, Natasha drained the last of her coffee in one long swallow, placed the mug on the table, and rapped it with her knuckles.

 

“I’ll be back in a few hours for you.” Then she was gone, as silent as she had arrived.

 

Bucky futzed around in those few hours. He did the dishes one handed, which was more difficult than it sounded, and watched some news on the television. However he did clean up again, figuring Natasha would appreciate if he looked less like someone who hasn’t left his bed for a week and more like a functioning human being. He shaved until only stubble remained and put on a baseball cap to hide his messy hair. Clothes were a little easier, as he only needed to put on dark jeans, a t-shirt, and a sturdy black jacket to match his worn black boots. Those things had been with him for years now and were as familiar as his mother’s scent when he hugged her.

 

This time when Natasha entered she had Clint in tow. He was covered in his normal collection of scrapes and bruises, a pleased grin on his face.

 

“Hey Bucky!” he called. Bucky smiled back. He liked Clint. The guy had a terrible sense of humor but he was extremely smart and possessed a deadly precision with a bow and arrow. Plus he, like Natasha, never treated Bucky like he was made of glass. These days that was appreciated behavior.

 

“So I was thinking,” chattered Clint as they walked to that tattoo parlor, “We should all get tattoos. Not just me. What do you say?” Bucky decided to take a time out of assessing potential threats to explain exactly what a bad idea that was. Clint listened respectfully enough, but once Bucky wrapped it up, gave a little shrug.

 

“I don’t know. This is my third tattoo, and I feel like it’s a really nice way to regain control of myself. Sometimes working like Tasha and I, I feel like I don’t have a say over my body. Everything sort of dissolves into orders. Getting a tattoo means reclaiming myself as mine. Reminding myself that this is all I job and that I still have free choice. It helps me remember that before my body is the government’s, it belongs to me.” Clint’s shoes scuffed against the pavement as he walked, but the hunched shoulders and hands in pockets betrayed how honest he was really being.

 

Bucky felt a rush of camaraderie. He sort of understood what Clint was talking about. It was really easy to lose track of the fact that you’re still in charge of yourself, that you still make your own decisions sometimes. Maybe he should consider a tattoo at some point. Wipe away the feeling that he was just a weapon for the government to use and remake himself into something important and irreplaceable. It was certainly worth some consideration.

 

The tattoo place Clint chose was small and tucked into a corner so efficiently that Bucky almost didn’t see it at first. The small waiting room was covered in art, probably by the artists, and a surprisingly friendly receptionist checked them in. Bucky walked around, looking at the sketching hanging on the walls. Some were traditional tattoo art, and others were highly realistic landscapes and scenes.

 

“Clint? Hey, welcome back. What are we doing today?” Bucky turned to get a look at the guy who would be sticking a needle repeatedly into his friend’s flesh and blanched.

 

“Cat guy,” he breathed without thinking. He hadn’t seen his strange, cat-smuggling neighbor since the incident in the elevator almost three week ago now. True to his word, he hadn’t told their landlord, but that hadn’t stopped him from wandering. Steve, to Bucky’s amazement, blushed again. Maybe this was a thing he did, hidden baby animal or not. He certainly wasn’t blushing because of Bucky.

 

“Hey Bucky. You know Clint?”

 

“Yeah, we’re friends,” answered Clint for Bucky, who was carefully ignoring Natasha’s curious face. She had been most intrigued when he told her of the incident. “How do you guys know each other?”

 

“Neighbors.”

 

“No kidding,” whistled Clint. Then he grinned. “Hey does that mean you’ll do my tattoos at Bucky’s place instead?” Steve gave a regretful smile.

 

“No can do.” As they talked Bucky took the time to get a better look at the guy. From their interaction in the elevator, he wouldn’t have pegged Steve as a tattoo artist. Steve had looked too clean cut and, well, large for such delicate precision. But now he could see ink curling out of the cuffs of his plaid flannel shirt and rising up past the collar as well. Not going to lie, Bucky was pretty curious as to what those tattoos were.

 

“So are you two coming to watch?” called out Steve as he and Clint headed to his room. Natasha nd Bucky quickly joined. They were perhaps not as a jazzed up for this as Clint was, but it would still hopefully be fun.

 

“We finishing the project today, Clint?” Steve asked as he pulled out a folder labeled “Clint Barton” and started unfolding the tattoo table for him to lay on.

 

“Project?” Natasha spoke up for the first time. “I thought you were getting an arrow.” Clint grinned, pleased and proud, not a surprising reaction given that he had apparently fooled Natasha. That was not an easy feat.

 

“You’ll see. We’ll be done today, right Steve?” If Steve was confused about any of this, he stayed strictly professional.

 

“That’s right,” he simply said.

 

Soon the buzzing sound of the needle filled the room, barely heard over the soft strains of music from Steve’s ipod, playing Marvin Gaye. He worked on a portion of Clint’s chest, directly over his heart, as Clint chatted away. Bucky couldn’t see what the design was and, based on Natasha’s slight scowl, neither could she.

 

“So how’s the cat?” Bucky asked when Clint fell into a lull. Steve looked up from his work for barely a second to flash the first real smile Bucky had seen on him.

 

“Peggy’s real good. Took her a few days to warm up to me. I think she didn’t have a great time of it before, but now she follows me everywhere when I’m home. I’m afraid I’ve probably spoiled her by this point. Thanks for not telling anyone, by the way.” The pure gratitude in Steve’s voice made Bucky feel guilty. He hadn’t done anything special. It wasn’t like it was a real hardship, keeping this secret.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly with a single shoulder shrug. Steve, however, just kept smiling as he concentrated on his work.

 

“No really, I mean it. You’ll have to come over and see Peggy. She’s shooting up like a weed now that she’s getting proper meals. The vet reckons she was malnourished beforehand. Real shame. I don’t understand why anyone just wanted to throw out a cat like that.”

 

“You rescue drowning kittens often?” asked Natasha dryly. The hint of a smile curled around her face, only present for those who knew her. But poor Steve was thrown off center.

 

“I don’t think it’s a common thing to run into drowning kittens, thank goodness. Imagine what a terrible world we would live in if it was normal to abandon those who cannot care for themselves.” Steve paused. “Oh wait, we already do. Well, I strongly believe in helping anyone I can, and that included my kitten.” Natasha and Bucky traded glances. Was this guy for real? But before they could check, Steve straightened up with a pleased look.

 

“Okay, pal, you’re all set. Take a look at it and make sure it turned out okay.” Clint hopped off the table to go look in the mirror. Bucky strained, but he was still unable to see the tattoo. He could, however, hear the genuine pleasure in Clint’s voice when he responded.

 

“Fuck, Steve, it’s perfect. Thank you.” Clint was hushed and sincere in a way he rarely was. Steve ducked his head, looking bashful.

 

“I’m glad you like it.”

 

“Um, asshole, we want to see,” Natasha demanded of Clint. She was many things, but patient when she was off the job wasn’t one of them. Clint knew this so he spun to give them the full view. Bucky felt like he had been punched in the chest.

 

It was a homage to Nat. It was a homage to Nat right over his heart. There was the red hourglass with a fantastically detailed gun in the forefront, glowing with Natasha’s widow bites. Well, Bucky couldn’t really say that their relationship was ambiguous anymore. He checked to see how Natasha was taking the tattoo.

 

She sat perfectly still, staring at the piece with a face softer and more vulnerable than Bucky had ever seen it. When she met eyes with Bucky, she looked unmeasurably fond. It made Bucky feel like he was intruding on a private moment, and he probably was. Steve must have felt the same way, because he busied himself by cleaning his equipment as quietly as possible.

 

“Now I’m going to have to get that stupid arrow,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. But the meaning was clear. She was touched. “But since you lied to me, you have to buy me dinner.”

 

“Deal,” agreed Clint easily. He snuck over to her side. “But I’m also going to take advantage of your emotional state right now and hold your hand for the rest of the night.”

 

“Ugh, if you insist,” Natasha groaned but in a way that Bucky knew meant she didn’t mean it. Clint reached over and entwined their fingers together before giving a squeeze.

  
“I really do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks friends for the positive responses so far! let me know what you like and you don't like or if there's anything you're hoping to see. every comment helps! <3


	4. The Tattoo Parlor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who’s next on my list, Wanda?” he asked the girl at the front desk. Her curly brown hair was dyed a bright red at the tips, and she had gauges and snakebite piercings.
> 
> Steve liked Wanda Maximoff. She had hopes to become a tattoo artist, so Steve tried to teach her during their slow days, where she tattooed robotic plates onto her serious datefriend, named Vision. Steve had secured her the job at the front desk when he heard about her life story as he tattooed a sleeve of fire on her left arm. She had had a difficult life and needed a break. Steve understood that feeling. So he had talked to Janet, the place’s owner, and Wanda was hired.Wanda consulted her list, biting her tongue as she did so.
> 
> “Yeah, someone named Natasha Romanoff? New customer.”

* * *

 

“I have never seen a small beast in a shop like this, my friend,” commented Thor, one of Steve’s best customers, as he watched Peggy prowl through the tiny workspace. Steve barely looked up from where he was concentrating on the precise shading of the face he was attempting to ink into Thor’s arm. A face was unusually for thor. Normal Steve did things like Norse sigils or complicated hammer patterns, and once he had even covered Thor’s entire back with a lightening storm. But this face was different, as was the deep seated peace in the boisterous man.

 

“She gets lonely being at home all day, so I thought I would bring her here. Is that alright?” Steve asked. He wanted to be considerate, but he also wanted Peggy to be happy. And the last few days, she had really enjoyed going to work with him. Thor laughed, although it was a quiet one, as he was always careful to never disturb Steve while he had a needle in his hands.

 

“She’s a magnificent creature, and I welcome her presence. What is her name?”

 

“Peggy.” Unconsciously, Steve’s eyes flickered to the small picture he kept near his speakers. Thor was quick and he caught the movement. His face softened. Steve never attempted to hide his dogtags, and he figured Thor must know he was a vet at this point.

 

“Is she a fallen comrade of yours?” he asked, nodding towards the uniform she wore. Steve swallowed, his throat suddenly thick.

 

“Yeah. She, uh, her convy got blown to bits while I was elsewhere. Dead in seconds. Nothing I could do. Happened to my whole team, since the army had sent me on a solo op. I should’a protected them.”

 

“And because you feel that guilt, you cannot release their souls,” nodded Thor. His perceptiveness never failed to impress Steve. Steve swallowed and stayed silent, concentrating on the girl’s eyes. They shone in the picture Thor had handed him for a  reference, and he wanted that to come across on the tattoo best he could.

 

“Do not feel ashamed, Steven. It is a common reaction when you have lost loved ones in combat. But I think you would do better to release them. Their souls need peace and so do you.”

 

“Yeah, so you going to tell me about this girl I’m tattooing on your arm?” said Steve in a less than subtle attempt to change the subject. Luckily Thor didn’t mind, and dove into the conversation with zest. Apparently her name was Jane Foster and she was an astrophysicist and the smartest person Thor had ever met. His low rumbling voice was soothing, and it was easy to listen to while he worked. Peggy appeared to like Thor just as much as Steve did, and ended up settling on his lap while he petted her with his free hand. She purred like a motorboat.

 

“You’re all set,” Steve said at long last. “Make sure you bring Jane in next time. I’d love to meet her. Also, can I safely assume you know the speech on aftercare by heart now? Or do you want me to remind you?”

 

“Of course I will, my friend. And fear not! I shall keep the bandage on until I return home and be careful not to soak it in water or the like. Thank you again for you talent.” Steve accepted Thor’s tip with a nod and picked up Peggy so he could leave. Then he went to the hall.

 

“Who’s next on my list, Wanda?” he asked the girl at the front desk. Her curly brown hair was dyed a bright red at the tips, and she had gauges and snakebite piercings.

 

Steve liked Wanda Maximoff. She had hopes to become a tattoo artist, so Steve tried to teach her during their slow days, where she tattooed robotic plates onto her serious datefriend, named Vision. Steve had secured her the job at the front desk when he heard about her life story as he tattooed a sleeve of fire on her left arm. She had had a difficult life and needed a break. Steve understood that feeling. So he had talked to Janet, the place’s owner, and Wanda was hired.

 

Wanda consulted her list, biting her tongue as she did so.

 

“Yeah, someone named Natasha Romanoff? New customer.”

 

“That’s me.” Steve barely blinked at Clint’s friend appeared as if by magic at the counter. It took a lot to scare him these days. Instead he smiled and extended a hand.

 

“Hi, Natasha. Good to see you again. Do you know what you want?” Natasha was dressed in skinny jeans and a striped sweatshirt, but despite the normal clothes, Steve could tell that she was very dangerous. It was in how she held herself - ready to jump into action at any moment. She held up a piece of paper.

 

“I’ve got a reference.” Steve nodded.

 

“Okay, then let’s talk so I can make a sketch for you.” Steve led her to his tiny room and turned down his music so they could talk. Natasha handed over the paper. It was a sketch of a peculiar looking arrow with an odd tip.

 

“Does this have anything to do with Clint?” Steve asked with a small smile. Natasha didn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth curled up slightly. Her eyes watched Peggy napping by the window.

 

“He shot me with that arrow first time we met,” she said. Okay, Steve hadn’t expected that. But he could take it in his stride.

 

“How big do you want it to be and where do you want it?” After they worked out the kinks and Steve had placed a temporary tattoo template on her side, he got to work. All was quiet except the tattoo gun and the crooning music of Edith Piaf until Natasha spoke up.

 

“You’re Captain Steve Rogers.” It wasn’t a question. Her eyes were fixed on his dogtags. So he didn’t deny it.

 

“Yes.” He knew that voice. She knew who he was. Trying not to tense up because he was working, he waited to see what she had to say.

 

“Fury still wants you. You’d ever consider it?” she asked lightly. Steve’s grip on his gun tightened. How did she know Fury? Then it hit him.

 

“You work for Fury,” he breathed. “You and Clint. You partners?” She nodded, still waiting for his answer. As he smoothed away some of the extra ink on her skin, he tried to explain.

 

“No, I don’t think so. It’s good to be done with all that. I like being in charge of myself.”

 

“I get that. But there’s more freedom under Director Fury than you received in the army. We could use someone like you, you know. There’s a lot of good you could do.” Natasha kept her voice calmly neutral as Steve pulled away to get more ink.

 

“Now you sound like him. He still calls me about once a month. I’m not - I couldn’t get back in the game again. I’m good where I am.” Steve meant that. Sure, he still had trouble sleeping from the nightmares and backfiring cars caused flashbacks, and he kept guns hidden all around the house. But he was coping and getting better little by little. But he couldn’t be responsible for other people’s lives again.

 

“Fair enough. Figured I ask just in case.” She fell silent again as Steve continued tattooing. He was now glad this was his last appointment of the day. He sort of wanted to just go home and curl up on the couch. Sam was going on a date tonight, so he really could just be alone for the rest of the day. That sounded really good right now.

 

“Alright, looks like you’re done. So is this your first tattoo?” asked Steve as he applied a bandage to her side.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, so after care is pretty simple and kind of obvious once you think about it. Take the bandage off when you get home and wash it lightly with just water. When you’re drying it, pat it with a towel. Overall, don’t get it very wet. Short showers, don’t swim, stuff like that. You can put lotion on it, if you want, but make sure it’s scentless and not enough to make your skin slimy. And when it itches, that’s good - it means healing. Just don’t scratch it. Uh, I think that’s about it. Oh, and don’t wear tight, restrictive clothing. You’re not going to want to anyway, it’ll hurt, but you might as well be warned. I’ve got this all down on a sheet too. Here you go, and any questions?” wrapped up Steve as he handed Natasha the Aftercare sheet. She glanced over it once before shaking your head.

 

“Like you said, pretty obvious. Thanks.” And, folding the sheet into a tiny square, she left, only stopping to give Peggy a small kiss on her sleeping head. Steve watched her goal and then went about cleaning up his room. Sanitation was extremely important in this job. Once he was done, he gathered up Peggy, said goodnight to Wanda, and headed home. On days he brought Peggy, he left his motorcycle at home and took the subway. He tried to ignore all the people taking pictures of him on the train with Peggy nestled around his neck. He knew she was adorable, and he didn’t blame any of them for capturing her beauty on film.

 

At home, he fed the cat and turned on the tv. There was still a ridiculous number of movies to catch up on from his time away. Serving didn’t leave a lot of time to watch movies. So he popped in a new one and curled up under his softest blanket. Sometime within the third movie, Steve finally fell asleep. He slept restlessly on the couch for a few hours dreaming of explosions and gunfire until the sound of a brisk knocking woke him up.

  
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he went to answer the door. Hoping he didn’t look too sleepy, Steve pulled open the door. And on the other side, stood his hot neighbor, Bucky Barnes. 


	5. Riding the Rollercoaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do I look that nervous?” asked Bucky, trying to make a joke. He expected it to fall flat under the weight of the honesty behind it, but Steve offered up a short smile.
> 
> “Like you’ve done six rounds on the Cyclone and are about to barf.” Strangely, that made Bucky laugh.
> 
> “Coney Island, right? Man I haven’t been there in years.”
> 
> “I went once, rode the Cyclone, and promptly lost all the contents in my stomach. Haven’t been back.” Steve leaned forward to share this information, and Bucky didn’t even flinch back. Perhaps Natasha had been right. Socializing could help.

* * *

 

 

Bucky paced in rapid circles around his small and messy kitchen. Natasha had called barely two minutes ago to let him know she had been called into work and could not take him to Stark’s as promised to be fitted with a new arm, and now he was stuck with an appointment he had to keep and the terrible option of using the subway. Subways were bad. All the people and noise and contained spaces meant a panic attack for sure.

 

Nat had suggested calling a cab, but honestly that freaked Bucky out in another way. Trusting  a stranger to deliver him to Stark Tower safely? No thank you. And it was definitely too far to walk. The only other person he could think of calling was Barton, but he was with Natasha. There wasn’t really anyone else unless - Cat guy. He could ask his neighbor, perhaps. Steve owed him one for keeping the cat a secret, right? Maybe he had a car. Gathering his resolve, Bucky decided to try.

 

He marched across the short hallway before he changed his mind and rapped shortly on the adjacent door. A pause followed before it was wrenched open by a very sleepy Steve.

 

He was dressed in old, worn dark jeans and an old t-shirt that looked a size or two too small. HIs hair was mussed and he barely managed to repress a yawn. Belatedly Bucky realized most people weren’t up and alert at seven am on a Saturday morning. He winced. Oops. Maybe he needed more people lessons from Natasha.

 

But Steve smiled softly, apparently not irritated at all by the early morning intrusion. The cat appeared in the doorway as well, slinking around his ankles until Steve reached down with one hand and picked it up. He slowly scratched under its chin as he tilted his head to the side.

 

“Good morning, Bucky. Can I help you?” Bucky glanced down at his shoes and tried not to lose his nerve. Natasha had told him over and over again that it was alright to ask for help. But it was hard to take that advice when Bucky know for a fact Natasha didn’t follow it. But he had come all the way over here. And it wasn’t asking for help. It was a favor. A favor to pay back the favor Bucky was doing for Steve. And if he concentrated on that rational, this might work.

 

“Do you have a car? I need a ride to Stark Tower for eight o’clock. Natasha bailed on me,” he said stiffly. There were probably pleasantries to be exchanged, but that wasn’t really Bucky’s deal anymore. Once upon a time Bucky had been suave and charming. Yeah, he found that hard to believe too. Steve, luckily, took the abrupt request in his stride.

 

“I don’t have a car, but I have a motorcycle and an extra helmet. I could give you a ride on that, if you’re comfortable?” offered Steve, still petting his cat. The little thing batted playfully at his fingers once or twice, but mostly appeared content to be held and adored. Bucky considered the offer. On one hand, a motorcycle offered less control than a car. On the other, no enclosed space. And he was riding with someone he was at least familiar with and someone Clint trust enough to permanently ink his body. And Clint was picky about those things. Plus, Steve hadn’t even asked why Bucky needed to get to Stark Tower. He won major points right there.

 

“Yeah.” Wait there was something he should add. Thanks! “Uh, thank you.” Steve practically beamed at him, the creases in his face from his sheets disappearing in the act.

 

“Great! Let me just tell my friend I can’t go running with him and then we can leave. Oh, and I need to give Peggy breakfast.” Peggy? Oh, the cat. Bucky nodded in understand, although he withered a bit when he realized Steve was canceling plans because of him. Voicing his concerns, he followed Steve into the apartment.

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Sam had a date last night that hopefully went well. He might even be thankful for this. Hey, do you want coffee or tea or anything?”

 

“I’m good,” croaked Bucky as he took in Steve’s apartment. The whole place was very clean, but in that stark, impersonal way. It felt at great odds with the cozy little room Steve worked, covered with artwork and books and a small collection of personal pictures. Here Bucky could see almost no personal effects anywhere. There was a framed sketch of a landscape, and a few cat toys, but that was about it. If it weren’t for the soft fleece blanket tossed over the couch, Bucky might’ve assume no one lived here but that cat.

 

“What’s the name Peggy from?” Bucky asked, feeling uncomfortable in the silence as Steve bustled around, pouring cat food and texting his friend. Besides, he didn’t feel like dwelling on Steve’s canceled plans in his head. It would only make him feel guilty and like a horrible human being. At the question, Steve grew still, his long fingers gripping the cat bowl so tightly Bucky thought it was going to break. Just as Bucky was about to retract the question, Steve answered, his voice quiet and pained.

 

“I named her for, uh, someone I knew. Someone who is dead now.” Bucky nodded. He certainly knew about loss these days.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky responded. He meant it. Death was never easy, whether it was just an individual or a group, an accident or an act of war. The tense line of Steve’s shoulders softened.

 

“Thank you. So, you ready to get going?” Bucky nodded and accepted the black helmet Steve handed him. He couldn’t help but notice that Steve’s was painted blue with little white wings on each side. He was mostly feeling okay about all this until it was time to actually climb on Steve’s clearly loved bike. Then Bucky stiffened. He hadn’t been in such close contact with another human being since he tried to shield his fellow soldier from the blast that ended up taking off his arm.

 

Steve, already straddling the bike, noticed his hesitation and pulled off his helmet so Bucky could see his reassuring smile.

 

“You haven’t been back long, have you?” Startled, Bucky straightened from his slouched position.

 

“How?” he asked. “The arm?” He kept his dog tags well hidden under his shirt at all time. He didn’t like sharing his business with every Joe on the street. But as Steve kept proving, he was hardly any odd person. As if to prove that, Steve tucked his thumb under the collar of his shirt and pulled out dog tags of his own. His smile turned understanding.

 

“I had a lot of the same ticks as you when I first got back. Didn’t like enclosed, public spaces, or anything that required close physical contact. Couldn’t usually remember how to greet someone normally even. You’re not obvious, but enough was there for me to come to my own conclusion. You sure you’re okay doing this? We could call a cab. I’ll still go with you. You don’t have to go alone,” said Steve, his eyes infinitely kind. To Bucky’s shame and embarrassment, the simple care that Steve had shown caused tears to spring to his eyes, even as he marveled over the fact that someone as well adjusted as Steve had served same as him.

 

“No, I can do this,” he grunted, jamming the helmet over his head and climbing onto the back. He awkwardly placed his one arm around Steve’s middle. Steve put his own helmet back on and turned to look at Bucky.

 

“Hold on tight. And if anything’s too much, poke me sharply or yell at me or something. I can always pull over.” Then with a rev of the engine, they were off.

 

As Bucky clutched Steve’s jacket for all he was worth, he felt a strange sort of wonderful exhilaration that he hadn’t even been aware he missed. He hadn’t done anything remotely adrenaline inducing since returning, at least not good adrenaline. This? This riding a motorcycle down a highway at breakneck speed? This was more like heaven than anything he could have dreamed of. He had forgotten the thrill of risk taking, caught up as he was in the consequences of war.

 

When they reached the Stark Tower, Bucky practically fell off the bike, shaking from excitement and laughing at the joy he had experienced. He probably looked quite the sight at that moment, but Steve just nodded, a smirk winding its way around his face.

 

“Thought you might like that.”

 

“That was - that was amazing!” Bucky gasped. For a moment, he forgot he was just a broken shell of a man (literally - he was missing an arm) who dreamt daily of the horrors he had committed in the name of freedom and righteousness. For a moment, he was just Bucky Barnes, a person who wanted to ride a motorcycle every day of his life from now on.

 

“Yeah,” said Steve, looking at his bike fondly. “First thing I did getting back was dig this old thing out of storage. Sam reckons I’ll go to an early death riding the way I do, but what’s the point of going slow when you can go fast?” Bucky felt that. Then he remembered why they had taken the trip in the first place and sobered.

 

“I can come in with you, if you want,” offered Steve quietly. He looked at the pavement as he spoke. “Or I can stay out here until you’re ready to go. Whichever you prefer. But I don’t mind going in with you.”

 

“Do I look that nervous?” asked Bucky, trying to make a joke. He expected it to fall flat under the weight of the honesty behind it, but Steve offered up a short smile.

 

“Like you’ve done six rounds on the Cyclone and are about to barf.” Strangely, that made Bucky laugh.

 

“Coney Island, right? Man I haven’t been there in years.”

 

“I went once, rode the Cyclone, and promptly lost all the contents in my stomach. Haven’t been back.” Steve leaned forward to share this information, and Bucky didn’t even flinch back. Perhaps Natasha had been right. Socializing could help.

 

“Well I don’t think either of us want a repeat performance of that. So, uh, if you want you can come.” He tried to make it casual, tried to sound like he didn’t desperately hope Steve said yes, but some of his panic must have bled through because Steve pulled him into a sudden hug.

 

“You’re going to be okay, Bucky.” Buoyed by that, he entered the Stark Tower with Steve at his heels. At first it was easy. The receptionist took his name, gave them visitor badges, and directed them to a floor. The elevator ride to the lab was pleasant. Steve kept up a steady stream of mindless stories about his time as a child. Bucky couldn’t help but notice most of them involved getting into fights. He must’ve been a tumultuous child. His poor mother.

 

It was only when they stepped off the elevator and entered the lab that Bucky felt his breathing get labored. During his time serving, he had spent a brief stint as a prisoner of war, and as a prisoner of war, had been subjected to several sketchy science experiments that the army still didn’t know the full details on. Apparently five years ago there had been a combined effort by the top U.S. scientists to create a super soldier, and Bucky had been fed a bastardized copy of the serum they created.

 

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice jolted through his memories, and he realized he was pressed against the wall, clutching his stub and shaking.

 

“I’m, I’m, I’m o-okay,” he stammered. But he couldn’t breathe. What was he doing here? Why was he agreeing to test an experimental prosthetic arm? He was going to be a lab rat again. That’s what this was going to make him. A lab rat. And if it was successful, they would send him back into the field. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that again. His head swarm with memories of another lab and men with strange accents puncturing his skin with needles as a fire ripped through his veins.

  
As the panic rose out of the pit of his stomach and crawled out his throat, he dimly heard Steve repeating his name and urging him to breathe. But he couldn’t draw breath through the panic and the edges of his vision blurred. He had one last sensation of falling to the ground before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading everyone! If you want to say hi, I'm over at steverogersisapunk.tumblr.com
> 
> Also I would love any and all feedback you're willing to offer!


	6. Bruce and Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yay! Happy respecting of pronouns, everyone. Which, by the way, is a totally easy thing to do. So can someone remind me why everyone and their mother still calls me by my birth name?”
> 
> “I think your reason was that people are dicks, Mr. Stark,” came Pepper Pott’s dry comment as she entered the lab. Tony winked at her, and a small blush blossomed under her freckled face despite her cool, professional exterior. Steve gave a little wave, happy to be reunited with the only person who blushed as often and as hotly as he did. Upon seeing him, her face transformed into a huge smile.

* * *

 

 

“Bucky? Bucky!” Steve tried not to freak out as Bucky collapsed on the floor, shaking and gasping for breath. He knew the signs of a panic attack, and panicking himself would not help Bucky. But Steve felt very attached to this guy already, and he didn’t know what to do.

 

“Hey, is your friend okay?” a kind and calm voice appeared at Steve’s side. It was attached to a person with greying dark hair, glasses, and steady hands. They wore a white lab coat over their purple dress shirt, so Steve assumed they were a doctor.

 

“I don’t know. He’s here for an appointment, but when he entered the lab, he started panicking and then collapsed,” Steve answered honestly. “I think it was just an extreme anxiety attack, but I’m not sure.” The doctor nodded.

 

“Okay, I’m going to go ask you to get a bottle of water from that fridge over there, while I help him regain consciousness. Can you do that?”

 

“Yeah,” answered Steve shakily, running a hand through his hair. He could do that. So he rushed over and grabbed a water bottle. By the time he returned, merely seconds later, Bucky was awake and looking around wildly while breathing harshly. The doctor knelt beside him and spoke in their calming voice. They had one hand wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, regulating his pulse.

 

“You are okay. Your friend here has brought you some water. Why don’t you drink that? No, don’t try to get up. We can stay sitting for now, okay? But you are okay. You are in a safe place. No one is going to hurt you. Just try to match your breathing to mind. Can you do that?” Steve uncapped the water quickly and practically spilled half the bottle in his haste to hand it to Bucky. The doctor released his wrist so he could drink, but continued sitting on the floor with him.

 

Slowly but sure Bucky’s breathing evened out and his chest stopped heaving so dramatically. As he calmed down, he grew more aware of his surroundings, and Steve could see the beginning of extreme embarrassment grow on his face. Before he could open his mouth to counteract that, the helpful doctor spoke up.

 

“So my name is Bruce, by the way. Bruce Banner. Are you James Barnes? It’s nice to meet you. Tony’s been very excited about you agreeing to visit. Don’t worry though. I’ll be here to make sure he doesn’t get too excited. Who’s your friend?”

 

“Steve,” Bucky mumbled. “And you can call me Bucky.” Bruce nodded.

 

“Okay. So Tony will be here in a moment, but it’ll only be us today. And Steve. This is the lab that we share, and not a lab that anyone from Stark Industries works at. Is there a way we can make you more comfortable?”

 

“I just don’t like labs is all,” muttered Bucky. Steve felt like his heart was going to break. Everyone’s time in the army was unique, but Bucky’s haunted face spoke of more horrors than just active combat. Granted, Steve wasn’t a huge fan of labs either, but he knew Tony Stark, and trusted him more than he trusted most scientists.

 

Slowly Bucky stood up, Bruce and Steve following suit. Brushing imaginary dirt off his pants, his face slowly transformed into the same scowl Steve remembered from the night they had first spoken. Perhaps that was Bucky’s way of protecting himself. Steve could respect that. After all, everyone had their own way of building walls when they wanted to. According to Sam, Steve’s method was to keep everyone at arm’s length with politeness and a refusal to discuss anything that required emotional vulnerability, as well as a keen urge to socially isolate. Well, Steve felt like telling Sam the next time they hung out, he was definitely getting better at the socializing thing, even if the person he was attempting to socialize with just had a panic attack. After all, that wasn’t Bucky’s fault.

 

Before Steve could open his mouth to offer support or reassurance to Bucky, which was getting steadily harder as he didn’t know why they were there in the first place, he was interrupted by a loud, brash voice exiting the elevator. It was Tony Stark.

 

“If I have to read one more article about how my lack of a penis invalidates my identity as a man, I’m going to buy the entire magazine just to fire you all. Understand? I can literally read transphobic things in every other piece of media I consume. But you’re a goddamn science magazine. You’re supposed to have some class. Good bye.”

 

Tony Stark was short, goateed, and covered in engine grease. Steve smothered a smile. He looked exactly the same as the first time they had met, over five years ago now. As annoying as Tony could be sometimes, it was comforting to know that some people remained the same no matter how much time had passed. A little consistency was good for the soul.

 

As he hung up the phone with as much force as you can have while hanging up on a touchscreen, he noticed Bucky hovering by the wall and broke into a beam.

 

“Barnes! It’s really you! You know Romanoff’s been singing your praises for quite some time now, but I was starting to think you were a myth, a legend created by the intelligence community to spread fear and chaos. But you’re here! In the flesh!” Steve and Bruce, who were both accustomed to Tony’s brash ways, barely flinched at the cascade of words pouring out of his mouth, but Bucky drew back, suspicious and alarmed. The movement only knocked him into Steve, which luckily shifted the object of Tony’s attention.

 

“Rogers! And what are you doing here? Is it to give us more blood? I hope it’s to give us more blood. You know I’m this close to discovering Erskine's secret, but I need more samples to work with.” Steve tried not to react as he felt Bruce’s calm face sharpen immediately as they stared at Steve with new interest. So they knew who he was then. Steve hated that. Bucky, however, didn’t appear to know anything, as he mostly stared between Tony and Steve with alarm.

 

“Uh, why are you collecting Steve’s blood?”

 

“I’m just here to support Bucky,” cut in Steve firmly before Tony could answer with far more details than he ever wanted Bucky to know. “He’s my neighbor. And -, “ here Steve hesitated because he could never be sure, “and my friend.” Bucky’s smile at that comment was all the confirmation Steve needed. Feeling a swoop of relief in his stomach, he gave a small smile of his own.

 

“Okay,” nodded Tony, “okay I can work with that. So Barnes, are you ready to see the new arm I’ve been cooking up for you? With some help from Brucey, of course. Bruce, did you introduce yourself? Do we want to do a pronoun circle? Also did you read that horrible article about me in the Scientific American? I’m going to buy the whole thing and fire everyone involved. And this time I’m going to do it before Pepper can talk me out of it.” Tony rambled easily as he led Bucky into the lab. It took Steve a second for him to realize this was intentionally distracting. Tony must’ve noticed the thin sheen of sweat covering Bucky, or perhaps he had been warned by Natasha. If she knew him and was recommending Bucky work with him, it would stand to reason she would warn Tony that Bucky was not very comfortable in this type of environment.

 

“We can do a pronoun circle if you want,” agreed Bruce. He was the steadiest individual Steve had ever met. But he supposed you needed a very steady and tolerant personality to work alongside Stark day in and day out.

 

“Okay, pronoun circle. Say your name and preferred pronouns. I’ll start! My name’s Tony, and I prefer he/him/his. Bruce?”

 

“Bruce, clearly,” said Bruce with a small chuckle, “and they/them/their please.” As they spoke, Tony directed Bucky into a chair and started typing on holographic screens. This man was clever. Steve had to give him credit for keeping Bucky calm. Then again, it was what Steve did every day as a tattoo artist. He had learned to cultivate a real talent for distraction by giving tattoos to nervous first timers. That was why he could recognize so easily what Tony was doing. So he spoke up next.

 

“Steve. He/him/his.” There was a short silence before Bucky realized it was his turn.

 

“Right, um, Bucky. He/him/his?”

 

“Yay! Happy respecting of pronouns, everyone. Which, by the way, is a totally easy thing to do. So can someone remind me why everyone and their mother still calls me by my birth name?”

 

“I think your reason was that people are dicks, Mr. Stark,” came Pepper Pott’s dry comment as she entered the lab. Tony winked at her, and a small blush blossomed under her freckled face despite her cool, professional exterior. Steve gave a little wave, happy to be reunited with the only person who blushed as often and as hotly as he did. Upon seeing him, her face transformed into a huge smile.

 

“Steve! I heard you were back, but that was six months ago. I’m a little upset that you never visited. I thought we were going to visit the MoMA together?” Pepper was Steve's art friend in that she was the only person he knew who enjoyed going to museums and discussing the famous pieces displayed there. To be honest, he had been avoiding her. He had been afraid she would give him the same pitying gazes everyone else who knew about his team did. He couldn't have stood that.

 

"Let me check my calendar and I'll find us a date," Steve promised. There was no pity in Pepper's eyes. He had been foolish to assume she would treat him differently, even if everyone else did.

 

"Good," said Pepper firmly. "Anyway, Tony, I just came down to let you know that you have a board meeting in a few hours so this can't actually take all day."

 

"But Pepper," Tony whined. It was an interesting sound to hear come out of an adult's mouth. Pepper gave her best glare and he wilted.

 

"No buts. I'm not asking you to shower or God forbid put on clean clothes. All I am asking is for you to be present. You can and will handle that. Understood?" Tony nodded sullenly. With one last smile towards Steve, Pepper left and returned to the main floor. Tony stared after her for a few seconds before spinning the holograph so everyone could see what he was making. It looked like a metal arm.

 

"So Barnes, I heard you were an unbelievable sniper in your day and one of my goals here is to get back that accuracy for you. So I've been working on prosthetics that connect to the brain and behave more like cohesive units of your body instead of the old stuff that sort of just hangs there. It's part of my anti weaponry initiative. Start using my robotics to help, you know? But I also want to be aware of the fact that as cool as this arm is, it'll never truly replace the one you lost. So I want to make it detachable so wearing it is always your choice. Thoughts, questions, concerns, snide remarks, favorite recipes?"

 

"Does it have to be metal?" Bucky asked with some trepidation. Tony hesitated, having more bedside manner than he had ever displayed for Steve. It was a real sign of growth, and Steve was proud of him.

 

"For the robotics and brain connection to work the way I want it to, yes, but I probably can develop a flesh sleeve to hide the metal if you want. I mean, I am Tony Stark. I can basically do anything," he said with a huge, playful wink.

 

"And that's our cue to take a quick break before his head starts swelling," cut in Bruce cheerfully. That brought a small smile to Bucky's face as his nerves had been starting up again. Then e glanced over at Steve.

 

"Uh you don't have to stay if you don't want. You didn't exactly sign up for this, and at this rate we'll be here for quite some time," he muttered. Steve knew a offer to jump ship when he heard one. But he was loyal to a fault and certainly not willing to leave Bucky in the position he was in without a friend. Steve was no Natasha but he would hope he was better than nothing.

 

“No I’m good.” He had already texted Wanda an hour ago to let her know he couldn’t make work today. It was a Saturday, so they did walk-ins only, and it was okay if he skipped one here or there. Bucky’s face transformed into grateful relief before he tried to cover it up.

 

“Whatever you want.” So Steve stayed as Tony pulled up schematic after schematic and covered the screens in blueprints. Thankfully Bucky didn’t suffer another panic attack, and even seemed in an okay mood when Tony announced they could leave. He had the build the arm for Bucky still, so it would be a few weeks until Bucky needed to return.

 

“Uh, thanks for wasting a day with me,” Bucky said, hands jammed in his pockets, as they finally left Stark Tower. Steve shook his head immediately.

 

“I didn’t waste a day. It was nice spending time with you, Bucky,” was Steve’s honest response. But Bucky shook his head with a bitter laugh.

 

“You probably think I’m beyond fucked up now. Which would be true. I fainted in there. Like some medieval dame wearing a corset.”

 

“And like that corset-wearing dame, you’re reacting to a large thing that isn’t your fault. She fainted because she couldn’t breathe due to horrible societal fashion requirements. You passed out because of horrible things as well. Things that are not your fault and that you’re reacting to and dealing with best you can. Why would I judge you for that?” Steve would never dream of judging someone else, especially for things outside of their control. Bucky opened his mouth once or twice, seemingly unable to respond. So Steve didn’t make him. Instead he handed Bucky his spare motorcycle helmet and a smile.

 

“Ready to go home?” Bucky turned over the helmet once or twice in his hand before looking up and managing to return Steve with half a smile.

 

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, let’s go home.”

 

 


	7. Pickles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you get my text?” Natasha demanded.
> 
> “Yeah.”
> 
> “So why didn’t you text back?”
> 
> “I was busy,” retorted Bucky, glaring at the unsavory mess of glass shards, pickles, and slowly draining pickle juice in his sink.

Bucky couldn’t stop thinking about what Steve had said, or, more specifically, how he had said it. He wasn’t the first person to tell Bucky it wasn’t his fault for reacting badly after living through what he did. But he was the first to say it so matter of factly, as if he would tell the same thing to any person he met. The people who had tried to help Bucky feel less guilty for panicking or lashing out were typically Natasha and sometimes Clint. But they knew him. They knew him better than anyone, Natasha especially. Steve didn’t have that shared history with Bucky. And yet he hadn’t even hesitated.

 

His phone chose that moment to beep, pulling Bucky out of his reflections. It was a simple text from Natasha.

 

VA center, tomorrow @ 3:00, support group. You should go :)

 

Sighing, Bucky swiped his phone open and deleted it. Natasha had been on his case for a while now. She thought he should see a therapist or go to a support group or at least talk to someone about the stuff that happened during his service. Bucky thought he just needed more time. Besides never managing a full night’s rest, suffering panic attacks whenever he left his apartment, and the struggles of doing everything one handed, he was fine.

 

Speaking of which, pickle jars were not made for one handed individuals. Bucky grunted as he tried to screw off the top while holding the jar tightly between his knees. The slippery glass of the jar just spun around with the lid. All Bucky wanted was one damn pickle to have with his sandwich. He was trying to ingest regular meals again, and if he was going to eat a turkey club, painstakingly put together by him, he was going to have a freaking pickle with it. The jar just spun merrily between his knees.

 

Then his phone started ringing, and it was Natasha, and he was caught sitting at his kitchen table with an uneaten club and a stubborn pickle jar. Suddenly feeling immensley frustrated and angry at everything, Bucky cucked the jar towards the sink, wincing as it shattered on impact, spraying him with pickle juices, and answered his phone.

 

“What?” he barked. Courtesy and social pleasantries were for people who would react poorly to his normal, sullen, post-war self. Natasha was not one of those people.

 

“Did you get my text?” she demanded.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So why didn’t you text back?”

 

“I was busy,” retorted Bucky, glaring at the unsavory mess of glass shards, pickles, and slowly draining pickle juice in his sink. If he didn’t clean that up, his whole apartment would end up reeking.

 

“Doing what? Glaring at the TV? Hanging out in your pajamas? Staring forlornly at nothing?”

 

“Hey I do thing! I - I went to see Stark to get fitted for an experimental arm, as per your request, so, so I don’t think you get to say anything just now.” Natasha sighed over the phone.

 

“What happened?” And this was where Natasha’s scary spy instincts became more annoying than cool.

 

“What do you mean?” said Bucky defensively. It didn’t throw her off the scent.

 

“Something happened. Tell me, Barnes, or I’ll climb in through your window again to bother you.” Natasha’s number one way of showing she cared was breaking and entering to help you out (and invade your privacy). So it was not an idle threat.

 

“I tried to open a stupid pickle jar and ended up smashing it in the sink,” admitted Bucky. As embarrassing as it was, he knew Natasha wouldn’t judge him.

 

“And you still don’t want to try that support group?” she asked softly. Bucky hunched his shoulders, wishing he were invisible.

 

“Nat, I’m a retired soldier who, after losing an arm in an explosion, was captured as a prisoner of war and experimented on. Even at a VA support group, I doubt there’ll be anyone with shared experiences.”

 

“Well yeah if you never try to meet anyone new,” scoffed Natasha.

 

“Okay, now you sound like my mom. Besides, I did meet someone new! My neighbor, remember? Steve the cat guy? Who so kindly drove me to Stark Tower when you bailed on me?”

 

“And I’ve apologized for that. I’m not going to do it again. Once should be enough. Now you’re just milking it.” Natasha’s snap brought a flush of shame. She was right. He had been.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine. Now are you coming to the meeting? I’ll even go with you.”

 

“If I go once, will you stop bothering me?”

 

“About this at least.”

 

“Done.”

 

“Great, I’ll pick you up. See you tomorrow.”  
  
“Bye, Nat.” Once he hung up, Bucky was stuck with the pickle jar mess. With a sigh, he grabbed some towels and went to clean it up, stubbornly not thinking about tomorrow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! Sorry for the long wait for the update. I was rather busy with Thanksgiving and such and it slipped my mind. But chapter 8 is almost done so count on another update soon! Thanks for sticking with me <3


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